Snippets
by darklyndsea
Summary: Stories I'm (probably) not writing.
1. HL-SG1 Eegeria Methos

Methos was Eegeria's host when she was a goa'uld and he had been out of the Horsemen for a few generations. He's the one who made her realize there was more to enjoy in life than sadism, and taught her how to keep herself separate from the genetic memories, so essentially he's the one who turned her into a Tok'ra. In whichever episode it was where they found Eegeria in the lab, Methos was there, recognized her, and took her back.

* * *

"This is wonderful!" Tok'ra #1 exclaimed. "We need to spread the news. Now that our Queen is back we will surely be able to defeat the System Lords."

Adams pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered to himself, just barely loud enough for Jack to hear, "Note to self, more self-preservation instincts in any future children." "_Paranoia._" "Tomato, tomahto. It's us they want to throw to the wolves."

The Tok'ra continued to exclaim excitedly to each other. "And of course, Eegeria will come back to our base immediately—"

Adams cleared his throat. "_Are you trying to get me killed, or will that be merely an unintended side effect?_" Oops, make that Eegeria.

"What do you mean?" Anise demanded. "Of course you will return with us."

"_You start spreading the word that I'm still alive—much less that I've returned—and I'll be Undesirable Number One to the System Lords and every other goa'uld with aspirations of power before you can even sneeze_," Eegeria pointed out. "_As such, from this point on you will refer to me by either my partner's name or a code name…Methos. My code name is Methos. Do not let on to anyone outside of this room that I am anything else. I don't care how much you trust them. I don't, and I certainly have some justification for being paranoid._"

The Tok'ra didn't look happy about it, but they agreed to it anyway. Even without the PR boost that would come from spreading Eegeria's name around, they were too short-handed to turn away help…and now that Jack thought about it, didn't somebody say something about Eegeria being the only Tok'ra queen, who gave birth to all the rest of the Tok'ra? Wait, that meant that all the Tok'ra were siblings, and Eegeria was their mother. Jack shook his head, trying to get that thought out of it, but it refused to be dislodged. …Did that make _Adams_ their mom too, in some sort of strange way? Sadly, Jack would probably get reprimanded if he started hitting his head on the table and disrupted the diplomatic proceedings.

"But you are returning with us," Tok'ra #2 said confidently.

"_No_," Eegeria said. The Tok'ra started to protest, but she quelled their protests with a Mom Glare. Huh. Jack hadn't known it was possible for a male face to pull off a Mom Glare. He wasn't even sure what made a Mom Glare different than a normal glare, he just recognized one when he saw it. "_My captivity has made me unable to undertake the kinds of missions you have dedicated yourselves to, at least for the time being, and I could not uproot Ben from his life so easily. We are long-lived—in a generation of the Tau'ri, or two, I may return to live among you, but for now I will remain with the Tau'ri, where Ben has made his life_."


	2. Forever-SG1 Henry Morgan joins the SGC

Henry came to slowly, his mind feeling like it was full of cobwebs. Had he been drinking again? He'd given it up after Abe had forced him to accept that Abigail was gone, but the temptation was always there. He started to roll over, to pull the blankets over his head and shut out the world.

_Clank_

Henry felt metal bite into his wrist. He froze. Handcuffs. Handcuffed to a bed. His breathing started to speed up. He was there again. The insane asylum. Not the same one, no, he could tell from the smell of disinfectant that this was a modern hospital. But he was locked up all the same.

"You're awake! Good." Henry cracked open his eyes to see a redhead wearing a lab coat over a military uniform. Henry mentally upgraded the situation from _bad_ to _worse_. "I'm Dr. Frasier. How are you feeling?" she asked, starting an exam.

"I'm fine. When can I leave?" Henry replied automatically, even though it was obvious that he wasn't going to be allowed to go any time soon.

"Why is it that doctors are always the worst patients?" Henry looked to his left. He hadn't noticed the man sitting there before. He was also wearing a military uniform, though not a dress one like Dr. Frasier's.

"Worse than your team?" Dr. Frasier teased. "I don't think that's possible. Besides, Henry here has been a model patient."

"He was unconscious the whole time!"

"And I didn't hear a word of complaint while he was out," Dr. Frasier said. "All right, I'll let you get to it. But don't agitate my patient!"

"Yeah, yeah," the man said, waving her off. He turned his attention to Henry. "So."

Henry waited, but the man didn't say anything more. It appeared he wanted to turn this into a game of 'who will speak first?' Well, Henry had the time to spare, and he'd suffered through enough boredom in his life—_and irritation_, he added when the man started tapping a pen in a very irritating manner—to be able to outlast this man.

Five minutes ticked by, as far as Henry's internal clock could tell, before the other man gave up on his childish tactic. "So, I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill. And _you_ are, as far as we've been able to determine, Henry Morgan."

"Yes," Henry agreed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, you see, we can't be certain of it because your paperwork is all very, very fake." Oh, if only Henry wasn't as bad at lying as he was! He knew his reaction had betrayed the truth of it. "But as far as we've been able to tell, the worst you've ever been charged with was indecent exposure." He paused. "Well, except for that heresy charge, but I'm not counting that."

Metal clanked off of metal as Henry jerked involuntarily. He knew. He _knew_.

"Hey, hey, calm down," O'Neill said, but how could he be calm? "Frasier!" O'Neill called out and practically threw himself on Henry to hold his wrists in place.

The doctor rushed in. "I told you not to agitate him!" she snapped at O'Neill. Not waiting for his reply, she turned her attention to Henry and said in a softer but still forceful voice, "Sir, if you don't calm down I'll have to sedate you." Soldiers—apparently doubling as orderlies—were already rushing into the room.

Henry gulped for air and tried to calm down. It didn't work; the combined threats of being the prisoner of people who knew what he was and who had the resources to do whatever they felt like to him was too great. But he did manage to stop yanking at the handcuffs like he was an animal caught in a trap. After watching him with sharp eyes for a while, Dr. Frasier decided that was good enough for her and shooed the soldiers out of the room—except for O'Neill, who she waved back to the chair.

"Well," Dr. Frasier said, "it looks like you won't need stitches, but I really should bandage your wrists as soon as possible. Is it all right if I do that now, or do you need some more time to calm down?" She met his eyes and asked _him_ the question. It was far from the kind of treatment Henry was expecting from any place he woke up handcuffed to a bed, surrounded by soldiers. Surprised, he could only nod his consent.

To his surprise, O'Neill didn't object when Dr. Frasier opened the handcuffs, one at a time, to clean and bandage Henry's wrists. He would have expected that the man would at least call in a couple of soldiers to stand guard, given how seriously they appeared to take security here. Dr. Frasier was very competent at her job, and just as skilled at not upsetting Henry any further. By the time his wrists were bandaged and he was back in handcuffs, he was at least capable of rational thought rather than running on pure terrified animal instinct. This time, she stayed in the room. It almost seemed like she was keeping a closer eye on O'Neill than on Henry.

"As I was going to say," O'Neill continued as if the interruption was nothing out of the ordinary, "we did a standard background check when we brought you in, and as far as we've been able to determine, you've been living here for a couple of centuries without causing any real trouble, so once you've been debriefed and sign some non-disclosure agreements, you can leave if you want."

"Just like that?" Henry asked suspiciously. "You knock me out, bring me in here, restrain me, and now you say I'm free to go?"

"Hey! _We_ didn't knock you out," O'Neill protested. "That was the other guy."

"The other guy . . . ?" Suddenly the memory came back to him. "What . . . ?"

O'Neill grimaced. "Guess his zappy-stick doesn't cause amnesia."

"He wasn't human!"

O'Neill cocked his head, studying Henry. "Why is that a surprise to you? You've lived at least two centuries. You're obviously not human either."

"I'm _cursed_, not inhuman," Henry protested. "My parents were perfectly normal."

"Asgard?" O'Neill asked Dr. Frasier.

"There's no sign of it," she said. "Not Goa'uld either."

"Huh," O'Neill said contemplatively. "Well, whether you're human or alien, and whether your condition is natural or not, you'll be free to go once you're debriefed. _Or_ . . ." He waited for Henry's curiosity to kick in.

Henry glared at him. The promise that he'd be free to go was promising, but the fact that he was still handcuffed to the bed was _not_. He refused to give in to the Colonel's juvenile tactics.

Dr. Frasier sighed. "For God's sake, Jack!"

O'Neill shrugged and gave in. "Or . . . you could take a job here."

"Take a job here?" Henry asked. "You think that just because you've discovered my secret, you can—"

"That's not even why we're interested in you."

"Then what are you interested in?" Henry asked cautiously.

"You saved my life."

"Just a bit of medical knowledge I've picked up," Henry said.

"If you'd been any slower, he would have been dead," Dr. Frasier said. "And that wasn't a solution most doctors would have devised in as little time as you had."

"I have experience," Henry shrugged it off.

"The thing is, we can use somebody like you here," O'Neill said. "Somebody with some pretty serious skills even when you have to improvise, who can work under pressure and against a deadline even in a very strange situation."

"Well, what was I _supposed_ to do?" Henry asked. "Let you die?"

"We deal with weird situations like that on a daily basis around here, and we've found that most people can't handle it," O'Neill said.

"Turnover has been especially high in the medical department," Dr. Frasier said. "If we're not treating traumatic injuries, we're treating diseases that nobody on Earth has ever seen before, and there's never any guarantee that we'll be safe."

"And you want _me_?"

"I admit, your boss didn't exactly have a glowing recommendation for you," O'Neill said, humor sparkling in his eyes. "Apparently, he thinks you're a bit _too_ happy to be a gravedigger, and he's a bit worried that you might have . . . ulterior motives for wanting to spend time with corpses."

It took a second to sink in before Henry made a face of disgust and spluttered, "He thinks that I . . . ?"

O'Neill nodded. "He's got a suspicion."

Henry shuddered. "Perhaps it's time to find a new job."

"Great!" O'Neill exclaimed. "We just so happen to have a couple of openings here."

"You just said that you're aware that my identification is false," Henry pointed out. "I don't think the government is in favor of hiring people whose identification is fraudulent to work for top secret projects."

"Ah, that's not a problem," O'Neill waved the objection away. "We've hired a few aliens over the years, and they didn't have any paperwork at all, much less any way of verifying what they told us about their past. Compared to that, you'll be a cakewalk to push through."

"And . . . just how far is the information about my immortality going to travel?" Henry asked with trepidation.

"Me, Frasier, the General, and a couple of people who ran the background check," O'Neill said promptly. "The President if it's ever something he needs to know. Once you sign on, we'll make you a new ID. We've already gotten rid of the evidence we found during the background check. If you want to tell anybody else, it's up to you."

"And . . . How long would I be joining this program, if I decide to do so?" Henry asked.

"Four years, with the option for another tour if you last the whole time. If you decide you can't take it, you can transfer out and spend the remaining time working at a normal base."

Henry turned the idea over in his mind. Finally, he spoke. "I'd like a chance to think it over and speak to my son, but I believe I'll accept the offer."

"Your son? We didn't find anything about a dependent."

Henry gave him an amused look. "Abe's _your_ age, or older. He hasn't been my dependent in decades."

"Ah," O'Neill said. "Well, I'm sure you've guessed that this is all classified."

"Of course," Henry agreed. "I won't say anything indiscreet."


End file.
